


My Poetical Romance

by fanpersoningfox



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, My Chemical Romance References, Pining, Theatre, they're teachers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 06:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17198243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanpersoningfox/pseuds/fanpersoningfox
Summary: This is an English translation of my schoethe fic "Referendare und Liebe".Friedrich returns to his old high school as a student teacher. His tutor is none other than his former German teacher Dr. von Goethe, who Friedrich had been crushing on for years.Drama ensues, featuring German class, theatre club, and Friedrich desperately trying to get a grip on his crush.





	My Poetical Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [billspilledquill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/billspilledquill/gifts).
  * A translation of [Referendare und Liebe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15885114) by [fanpersoningfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanpersoningfox/pseuds/fanpersoningfox). 



> This is all for billspilledquill, who took the trouble of readiiing the German original via google translate. To honor that dedication and to prevent my fic being butchered by gt, I've started to translate it myself.

Now there he was, standing in his former high school’s faculty room, feeling out of place. Of course Friedrich had overslept even on his first day and therefore had only had time for either breakfast or a shower before passing over two red traffic lights and a dark yellow one in his attempt to get here on time. A decision his rumbling stomach did not approve of. Plus he was completely out of breath, never mind the state of his hair.  _ Welcome to life as a student teacher. _

 

Friedrich looked around. It still looked exactly like he remembered it from “could-you-please-help-carry-this-up-to-the-faculty-room?”-tasks from his time as a student: a long room, piles of paper everywhere, two rows of tables with cheap plastic bouquets on each one, high cupboards lining the walls, and a small kitchenette in the back of the room, with a large coffee maker, which he already knew would become his new best friend. Now, at seven thirty am, the room was filled with teachers, getting class material from their lockers, drinking coffee, and socializing. Friedrich’s former English teacher, Mr. Herder, was sitting at one of the tables and apparently grading a quiz last minute. Friedrich had always liked him.

 

“Hey, you're also starting student teaching now, aren't you?”

A voice shook Friedrich from his thoughts. It belonged to a young woman with glasses and a high ponytail, who was smiling at him, too brightly for a Monday morning.

“Charlotte Kalb. Maths and Ethics. You?”

 

He smiled back as well as he could. It was good to have some friends on his side.

“Friedrich Schiller. German and History.”

 

“Cool, nice to meet you. Where…”

 

She stopped as someone had clapped their hands to get people's attention over the noise in the room.

 

“New student teachers over here, please!”

That was Ms. Von Stein, the assistant principal who's busy-important appearance hadn't changed a bit since Friedrich’s high school time.

 

Friedrich followed Charlotte over to her and the small group gathering around her.

 

“Alright, good morning, my dears. We're going to make this super short; welcome to the school, or welcome back.” - Here she looked at Friedrich for a moment. - “Each of you is going to get a key from me. They fit to the normal classrooms as well as to any special rooms you may need for your subjects, and to the faculty room right here.”

She glanced onto her list. “Huber.”

 

A short young man with a receding hairline, who's face kind of reminded Friedrich of a guinea pig stepped forward and collected his key.

 

“Kalb.”

 

Charlotte was still looking way too happy, Friedrich couldn't help but wonder if that had anything to do with the name; after all Lotte was a morning person, too.

 

“Körner.”

 

The third young man in their group, who seemed to be the only one completely unaffected by Ms. Von Stein’s demeanor and the awaiting first day, raised his hand and received his key.

 

“Schiller.”

 

_ Now I’ve switched sides at last _ **,** Friedrich thought as he took his own key.

 

“And Stock.”

 

Ms. Von Stein gave the last of the student teachers, a chubby young woman with purple lipstick, her key and put away her list.

 

“Alright. So this would be done. You know your schedules, you know your tutors. If there's any problem, talk to them first and to me second. Good luck.”

 

Mumbling “Alright" and “Thank you" the group began to dissolve. Friedrich ran a hand through his hair, realizing too late that he'd tied it back this morning and now only ruined the braid. Taking a deep breath, he took it all down and re-tied it.

  
  


“Good morning,” said a voice that reminded Friedrich of rough velvet.

He turned around and froze. The last six weeks during which he’d tried to mentally prepare himself for meeting Goethe again seemed to have vanished into thin air as his stomach jumped, his mouth became dry and his palms sweaty. Of course he knew that these reactions were ridiculous but he still couldn’t prevent them from happening. The school boy crush on his former German teacher had persistently stuck around and then, three years ago, evolved into some kind of hero worship when Goethe had published a quite successful novel titled  _ The Sorrows of Young Werther,  _ followed by the play  _ Götz von Berlichingen.  _ Seeing him again in person made Friedrich’s heart beat in his throat.

 

Goethe appeared utterly unimpressed, albeit a little annoyed.

He glanced over the student teachers, his eyes lingering shortly on Friedrich, then turned to Ms. Von Stein:

 

“Where’s Schiller?”

 

She snorted slightly.

 

“Right there, next to you.”

 

She nodded towards Friedrich, who awkwardly raised a hand.

 

“Hi. Long time no see,” he said and instantly wished he hadn’t.

 

Goethe turned to face him again, looking him up and down until after a moment recognition lit up his eyes.

 

“Ah, well. I didn't even recognize You. You've grown up.”

 

Friedrich’s cheeks burned. A good five years had passed since they'd last met but Friedrich could still picture his sixteen year old emo self way too well - poorly dyed hair, more bangs than face, unreasonable amounts of eyeliner, black nail polish, and cut off gloves, the whole thing - and so could Goethe, apparently.

 

Although the emo phase had calmed down a little by the time Friedrich had graduated he'd only gotten over it entire at university, which meant that Goethe had never before seen him with his natural ginger hair color or dressed in something other than black band tees. On top of that Friedrich, due to a late growth spurt, now was taller than Goethe by almost a head. No, it really was no wonder he hadn't recognized him.

 

As Goethe raised a questioning eyebrow Friedrich noticed that he'd opened his mouth to reply but couldn't quite come up with one so he closed it again. Goethe looked at him for another moment and then turned to leave. 

 

“Come on.”

  
  


***

  
  


Goethe had begun the lesson with the words:

 

“According to the syllabus the first topic for this semester is romanticism. That kind of nonsense you please teach yourself.”

 

Now he was standing in front of the board and lecturing on the incompetence of the ministry of education.

 

Friedrich was sitting in the back of the AP German class and questioning all of his life choices. It was as if he'd traveled six years back in time, with the difference that he wasn't only supposed to pay attention to what Goethe said but also especially to how he taught it. And just like six years ago Friedrich caught himself hanging on Goethe’s lips, which looked incredibly soft.

 

Goethe had taken over Friedrich's class in ninth grade. Freshly out of student teaching himself, he’d taken the students’ hearts by storm (as well as those of the other teachers, the parents, and the school's administration), and therefore it was no surprise when he took on their AP course two years later, despite his little experience. Friedrich, in the middle of teenage self-discovery at the time, had done the cliche thing and developed a crush on his teacher. “Crush" here being a polite understatement.

 

In the AP course the crush then turned into some kind of love-hate-situation, that expressed itself by Friedrich contradicting every single statement of Goethe's, which then again lead to lengthy discussions and more often than not to “Just accept it, Friedrich, we need to get through the syllabus”. Friedrich had been no easy student and Goethe no easy teacher.

  
  


“Excuse me? Mr. Von Goethe?”

 

A curvy girl with hair dyed dark red had raised her hand and continued when Goethe looked at her.

 

“Who's that?”

 

She nodded back to Friedrich, who now found himself being stared at by the entire class.

 

One of Goethe's eyebrows twitched whereas the rest of his posture stayed completely still.

 

“Have you never seen a student teacher? For how long have you been to this school?”

 

“We just didn't think You'd take one,” chimed the girl sitting next to the first one in, placing her chin in her hand with a challenging look.

 

The expression on Goethe's face now was somewhere in between offended and impressed.

 

“It wasn't my idea,” he deadpanned.

 

For a moment his and Friedrich's eyes met. The latter swallowed. This wasn't exactly news but it wasn't nice to hear either. And it hit Friedrich's stubborn side. Who did that guy think he was that he didn't even try to hide his animosity towards him?

 

“It wasn't mine either", slipped out before he could stop himself.

 

Which was true. Although if given a choice, he’d of course still chosen Goethe. The man was a genius after all.

 

For just a moment the warm August morning air seemed to freeze, then a bunch of boys in the back row burst into laughter, breaking the ice. Soon the whole class was giggling, until Goethe made them shut up with a glare. Gesturing towards Friedrich, he sighed:

 

“Go on. Introduce yourself.”

  
  
  


The next period was German again, but in a tenth grade course. Friedrich glanced around the class. This time he was standing in front of them himself. He still had to get used to this new perspective. 

 

“Good morning. My name is Friedrich Schiller, I'm a student teacher for German and history starting today, as well as your new German teacher. Which you've probably figured. Please make yourself some name tags so I'll learn your names faster.”

 

There were two parallel German courses in this grade, one of which would be taught by Friedrich, the other by Goethe, who was supposed to help and guide Friedrich as his tutor. Put to practice, this meant that in terms of teaching Friedrich was thrown into the cold water. 

 

He gave his students a quick smile and took a deep breath. _ Be the teacher you'd have liked to have. _

 

“Don't have sex because you will get pregnant and die.”

 

The class stared at him. Friedrich stared back. A couple students giggled. Friedrich put his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking.

 

“That's how one could summarize the message of the first play we’ll be talking about this school year. But actually, it has a quite different, much more important message. Which play am I talking about?”

 

A girl in a flowery dress who's name tag Friedrich couldn't read as it’d been written in very fancy calligraphy, her neighbor - Antonia - and a dark haired boy in a _Justice League_ shirt raised their hands. Friedrich had to chuckle when he read the boy’s name tag.

 

“Yes, batman?”

 

“Spring Awakening.”

 

“That's right. And what's your real name?”

 

“Bruce Wayne.”

 

The boy grinned. The class laughed. Friedrich rolled his eyes but had to smile as well.

 

“Well, Bruce, that name isn't on my list here.”

 

Batman let out a sigh.

 

“Richie. Ricardo.”

 

“Alright. Can you also sum up what the play is about?”

 

“Yes. Well, kinda. I know the musical.”

 

Friedrich nodded encouragingly. This was going pretty well so far.

 

“Okay. So, there's this guy, Melchior, who gets his girlfriend pregnant. She's also just going for it because nobody's told her that sex can get you pregnant. Then she dies because… something with the baby. And Melchior’s friend Moritz kills himself because he failed the grade. And then there's this scene where Melchior wants to kill himself but the two of them show up as ghosts and stop him.”

 

“Alright. Those are already several of the most important points. The ghost in the graveyard scene is his own character in the original, who we’re going to take a closer look at later on. Anyone else?”

 

If things kept going like this, teaching would at least in this class be kind of fun after all.

  
  
  


The cafeteria still smelled like overcooked potatoes, bean stew, and hopelessness. The pictures of coffee beans and sliced bread, that used to hang here, had been replaced by posters of various big cities. Probably in an attempt to give the room a more modern flair, which was kind of dampened down by the exact same plastic plants that had already been here when Friedrich started fifth grade thirteen years ago.

 

Although this time Friedrich didn't have to deal with the awkward  _ Where am I going to sit? _ , because as soon as he’d picked up his plate of flavorless noodles with ecologically certified tomato sauce one of the other student teachers, who were already sitting at a table together, waved at him and offered him a chair.

 

“Hey, sit with us!”

 

Friedrich sat down. “Thanks.”

 

The other - the one who’d been so utterly unimpressed by Mrs. Von Stein earlier, Körber or something? - looked him over with his dark eyes.

 

“Sorry that I'm so blunt but… your name’s Friedrich Schiller, right? Are you the Friedrich Schiller who wrote  _ The Robbers _ ?”

 

Three curious pairs of eyes were now fixed on Friedrich. The play he’d written and put on stage with the university theatre group had turned out rather successful and also caused some stir due to its radical political statements, but he hadn't expected to be recognized here.

 

“ … yes. That one.”

 

The other guy's eyes visibly lit up.

 

“Told you so!”

 

He grinned at the young woman sitting across from him, who’s name Friedrich didn't remember either - not Charlotte. She rolled her eyes, but was eyeing Friedrich with just as much interest as her colleague. Turning back to Friedrich the guy explained:

 

“We’re huge fans of your work. Sadly we only came across it once all the tickets were gone, otherwise we'd definitely come to Mannheim.”

 

Friedrich couldn't help but gape like a cow in a lightning storm. Then a smile spread across his face:

 

“Thanks! Glad to hear that.”

 

Not-Charlotte was now smiling properly as well:

 

“The message is just true and right to the point. The characters are amazing, even if there's only one woman in your two-hour-play. I just have a soft spot for heroes.”

 

“Not to mention the character dynamics. And especially in our contemporary society it's important to question existing structures. Just because a system’s been working for two hundred years doesn't mean it's inherently good or that it couldn't be better. Of course it's not inherently bad either, but exactly that’s why questioning is important,” Friedrich’s huge fan chimed in. 

 

Friedrich was just about to reply that it wasn't just about questioning but also about doing something against the existing structures, when someone plopped down into the chair on his other side and cut him off:

 

“Hello, is this seat taken, bon appetit, I'm Charlotte, fifth graders are just the cutest, what did I miss?”

 

Friedrich, his huge fan, not-Charlotte, and the third young man, who looked a little like a rodent and had kept quiet so far, turned around. Charlotte smiled broadly.

 

“Charlotte Kalb, Maths and Ethics. And you?”

 

Not-Charlotte was the first to find her voice again:

 

“Dora - Dorothea - Stock, Art and Physics.”

 

“Friedrich Schiller, German and History.”

 

“Right, I've asked you already this morning.”

 

“Christian Körner, Law and Music.”

 

“Ludwig Huber, English and French.”

 

“Alright, nice to meet you all.”

 

Half an hour of small talk later Friedrich knew that Körner generally addressed people by their last names and that it was contagious, that Huber was allergic to animal fur and owned a bald cat named Spock, that Körner was dating Dora’s sister Minna and that those two were the only people he called by their first names, that Dora had been abroad in Japan and could now cook Japanese food, as well as Charlotte's full life story in colorful detail. 

 

On top of that they’d made plans for a movie night the upcoming weekend because nobody could accept that Friedrich hadn't seen  _ Fight Club _ yet; Körner had actually choked on his potatoes when he heard about that.

  
  
  


After the lunch break Friedrich had a double lesson of History with the seventh graders, which turned out to be it's very own kind of challenge. It was hot and in the afternoon and nobody was concentrating in the slightest, which not even the History of the separation of the United Netherlands from the Spanish government could change. To build up authority with students who didn't want to listen to him wasn't easy either with Friedrich's anti-authoritarian stance. At least Mrs. Von Stein, his mentor for the subject of History, was less distracting than Goethe, although not less intimidating.

 

When the afternoon classes were finally over and Friedrich locked the classroom at three thirty pm, the thought that the first day on the dark side had gone pretty well after all. Deep in thought, he made his way outside.

 

The students were exhausting but alright, like one could expect from a bunch of teenagers. Working with then was fun, even though it still was a strange feeling to be now standing on the other side of the classroom.

 

The other student teachers seemed to be quite chill, too; especially with Körner he got along really well. There was potential for lifelong friendships here. His time as the odd one out were likely to be over now, school or not.

 

The relationship to the - other - teachers was the most unfamiliar thing, though. A shallower difference in authority, they're practically on eye level, he was one of them now. Strange somehow. New.

 

Yes, many things had changed directly compared to his time as a student. The students seemed so small and the teachers not so big anymore. 

 

It was strange to be back, to walk through the halls he’d went through every day for years. The sound of the footsteps, the smell of the linoleum floor. The taste of chalk in the air. The weird smell in the biology department. The colorful posters in the classrooms of the lower grades. The stain on the hallway wall, where Georg had thrown his pencil case at Wilhelm and his pen had exploded, and the one where Caroline's purple hair had rubbed off on the wall. The first one had been painted over, the second was still visible. The new mural in the large music room. The always new art projects in the showcase in the atrium. The same old ping pong tables and soccer goals. The sunflowers in the school’s garden and the now completely dry pond. The tree they’d always hidden on to smoke, that had been cut down. Now there were computers in almost every classroom, projectors that actually worked, more smartboards and fewer polylux’. The kids that weren't gathering around pokemon cards during recess but around smartphones.

 

And then there was Goethe. Goethe who was exactly like in Friedrich’s memory and still completely different. He was definitely still as good looking, in this cultivated way that would have appeared pretentious and laughable on everyone else. Who would ever wear a three piece suit on a regular school day? Dress shirt and suit jacket would have been understandable but waistcoats had gone out of fashion in the 50s. And those curls on top of that! Friedrich had been struggling with his own so much for so long, it was hard for him to believe that anyone could look good in curls, let alone this elegant. He actually hadn't even known so far that Goethe did have curly hair. Previously it had been cut too short but now it was just long enough to curl.

 

Lost in thought about Goethe, Friedrich only noticed this same man coming his way when it was already too late. He turned a corner and bumped full force into someone carrying a big pile of books that now crashed to the floor with a loud bang. Goethe lost his balance, waving his arms, Friedrich reflexively grabbing his elbow to stabilize him. This however turned out to be a mistake as now he was tumbling backwards himself, pulling Goethe with him. They surely would have crashed to the floor if it wasn't for the wall that caught their fall no less harshly. For a moment Friedrich found himself pinned to the wall by Goethe's full body, including the other’s nose on his collarbone.

 

Then Goethe had caught himself and straightened up with an indignant huff.

 

“Look where you're going!”

 

Friedrich felt his blood rise to his cheeks.

 

“‘xcuse me, I was in thought.”

 

Hastily he began to pick up Goethe's books and promptly dropped his own bag in the process.  _ Competent, Friedrich, competent.  _

 

“That I’ve noticed,” Goethe deadpanned and accepted three volumes of a mushroom encyclopedia. What he was needing those for? Was he writing something in that area? Or simply for his classes?

 

Friedrich ran a hand through his hair, deliberately avoiding any eye contact. By now his entire face was burning, neck and ears and all.  _ Damned teint of a ginger. _

 

“Yes. Oh, there's another one.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

Both of them reached for the last book, a slim volume in scarlet red. As Goethe was again carrying most of his pile, Friedrich beat him to picking it up.  _ Friedrich Schiller - The Robbers _ , from the school’s library, judging by the blue sticker on the spine. 

 

Their glances met and the corners of Friedrich's mouth twitched upwards. 

 

“What do you think of it?”

 

Goethe took the book with a stoic expression. 

 

“I've just borrowed it, so nothing yet. Although my expectations aren't too high, judging by what I've heard.”

 

It was a severe effort for Friedrich to not let his grin drip off his face. 

 

“Well, then I’m looking forward to some decent criticism.”

 

This earned him just an unreadable look and a dry “good day" from Goethe before he just left Friedrich standing there and disappeared down the corridor. He did not seem to hear his “you too, see you tomorrow” either.

  
  


***

  
  


When Lotte came home that evening, she found her roommate laying facedown on the couch.  _ My Chemical Romance _ was blasting from his headphones so loudly, she could understand every word from three meters away. Carefully, she approached him and tapped his shoulder. If Friedrich was listening to emo music these days, it was a sure sign he'd had absolutely not a good day.

 

“Friedrich?”

 

He lifted his head and pulled out one of the earplugs.

 

“Hm? Hi.”

 

“Turn off the noise, it's bad for your ears.”

 

“I don't care.”

 

“Friedrich.”

 

She raised her eyebrows in a disapproving look, which made Friedrich roll his eyes but shut down the music and sit up to make room for her on the couch.

 

“Yes, mom.”

 

Grinning, Lotte plopped down next to him.

 

“Honey, we’ve talked about this. I'm not into mommy-kink, and generally you do this with people you have sex with.”

 

Friedrich snorted, halfheartedly pushing her away.

 

“Oh, shut up.”

 

However, the corners of his mouth were twitching, so Lotte had reached her goal. Encouragingly she elbowed her best friend in the ribs.

 

“What was so bad that you're listening to My Chemical Romance now? Did you embarrass yourself in front of your crush? Popped a boner and someone saw? Did your eyeliner smudge?”

 

“Haha.”

Friedrich curled into her side and hit his forehead against Lotte’s shoulder.

 

“It's just terribly weird to be there again. Like, the students are alright, really, but… I kinda feel like a traitor, I've switched sides after all. Not to mention all the memories that are coming back. And…”

 

“And?”

 

He sat back up with a sigh.

“Goethe.”

 

“Yes, what about Goethe?”

 

In lieu of a reply Friedrich gave a throaty groan and let his head fall over the backrest of the couch.

 

“Is that a good moan or a bad moan?”

 

“Yes…”

 

“Honey.”

Lotte’s voice had taken on a scolding quality. Friedrich let out a sigh but didn't change anything about his position.

 

“He’s… not overly enthusiastic about me as a person. And we're gonna have to stand each other five days a week for the next two years.”

 

“‘Not overly enthusiastic’? Isn't this the dude who gave you an A+ in your a-levels?”

 

“Yeah, well… that surely wasn't because he liked my ideas. Or me as a person. Also, that was years ago!”

 

“Oh, right, I forgot, you're crushing on the guy so hard, my sister dumped you because of it.”

 

“I'm not crushing. I admire his work. Also,” - Friedrich lifted his chin to shoot his best friend a fake look of reproach - “you know very well that me and Caro only didn't work out because I couldn't have the both of you and I'm just not one to do things by halves.”

 

Lotte shrugged, grinning.

 

“Sorry. If I wasn't as incredibly gay, I would've married you already.”

 

“I know. I cry about this loss every day.”

 

“Before or after crying about Goethe?”

 

Now Friedrich did throw a pillow at her.

 

“Fuck you!”

 

Giggling, she parried.

 

“You fuck yourself! Is he even into guys?”

 

Friedrich raised his hands, clueless.

 

“No idea. As far as I know he had a girlfriend when I was graduating. But that doesn't matter here anyways, he sees me as an incapable inconvenience nonetheless. The point is that he doesn't want to be my tutor. He's not supposed to hook up with me, he's supposed to teach me to make kids understand literature. That can't be asking too much of him, can it? It's his job after all. I mean, why does he even do it if it's annoying him so much? To feel better about himself in comparison to me? It's not like he'd need that!”

 

Now Lotte got up with purpose, put a hand to her hip and glared at Friedrich.

 

“O-kay. Darling. You're getting worked up about this, which won't get you anywhere. Deep breaths. Alright, how about this? I'm gonna make curry now - the peppers need to go and I bought some coconut milk - and then we’re gonna watch a couple episodes of Doctor Who and make our personal peace with arrogant bosses. You're not gonna get rid of him anyway and I'm only half looking forward to listen to you whine for the next two years.”

 

Friedrich, who’d kind of gotten worked up indeed, did as he was told and sat back down.

 

“Personal peace, what the…? Fine, if you say so. But really, just because it's you. And curry sounds great. Thank you.”

 

“No problem. And before I forget it: Thursday night date with my parents. We're visiting them.”

 

Already on her way to the kitchen Lotte had stopped in the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of her skirt. Friedrich nodded and made a face at her, followed by a sympathetic smile.

 

“Sure thing. Do you need any help with the curry?”

 

“Don't you dare!”


End file.
